


A Long Walk

by Goody



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bromance if not romance, Geralt Whump, Gonna whump that bard so good, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, I'll see when I get to the end, It ended up being slash, Jaskier Whump, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Might be pre-slash, Violence, boys in trouble, little bit of, of course it did, protective Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goody/pseuds/Goody
Summary: Nilfgaard is searching for the Child of Surprise. Too bad Geralt and Jaskier didn't know that or they may have been better prepared for an ambush.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 169
Kudos: 2146
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY





	1. The Death of the Gravier

**Author's Note:**

> Well I loved The Witcher. Basically all show canon and an excuse to whump Jaskier and let our boys banter. Enjoy.

“And Geralt’s mighty sword,

swung high above his head,

and just like that,

the Graveir was deeaaadddd!”

Geralt took a swig of beer and rolled his eyes even as the pub broke out in raucous applause around him. Some of the celebrating townspeople cheered in Geralt’s direction, alone in the corner of the tavern, but most gave their attention to Jaskier, standing on a table in the middle of the room, bowing as he finished his song.

“Thank you, you’re too kind. Don’t forget to be even more kind and toss a coin to your witcher, and your bard,” he said in closing then jumped down, picked up a beer and moved to join Geralt at his table. He held out his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

Geralt huffed. “Not your best song.”

“You killed the thing an hour ago, I didn’t have a lot of time to work on the composition,” Jaskier said easily waving off Geralt’s criticisms as always. As he spoke several cheering men passed, slapping Jaskier on the back and leaving a few silver coins on the table. Geralt had no doubt he would have been equally harassed with gratitude if he hadn’t placed himself against the back wall to keep anyone from touching him. Jaskier beamed under the attention though, shaking hands with each of the men celebrating their town being freed from the Graveir that had been plaguing them. When the men left Jaskier turned to Geralt with a smug smile. “They all liked it.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Geralt mumbled into his ale before he reached for half the coins.

“Oy, hands off!” Jaskier shouted, slapping the back of Geralt’s hand. Geralt paused, his eyes opening wide as he threw a threatening glare Jaskier’s way for touching him. Jaskier shrank back.

“Please,” he added quietly. Geralt grunted.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, isn’t that how your song goes?” Geralt asked.

“You’ve already had your coins tossed,” Jaskier pointed out. “The mayor paid you outright. So unless you want to start sharing your monster killing fees this is all mine.”

“Fine,” Geralt relented. He had been paid better for this job than most since the whole town had pitched in to pay for him to stop the Graveir that had been attacking them for weeks.

“That’s more like it,” Jaskier said as he scooped the coins into his purse.

“Another song!” “Bard! Sing it again!” “Yes! Another!”

Jaskier beamed at the shouts and turned to Geralt, “So sorry, but my adoring fans demand my attention.”

“They can have you,” Geralt said. He waved him off, feigning to not care even though the smallest of smiles was visible behind his mug as he watched Jaskier sashay back to the front of the bar with his lute and break out into another tune to a resounding cheer from the crowd.

Neither Geralt nor Jaskier noticed the two men a few tables away, faking smiles to fit in with the crowd while they watched the Witcher and bard closely.

“Go report to the commander,” said the first under his breath. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on them.”

The second man nodded and finished off his ale with a long swig. Before he left he reached under his coat to pull out a few coins, exposing his clothing underneath for just a moment. If anyone noticed he was dressed in Nilfgardian armor, well, nobody said anything as he made his way towards the door, the echoes of Jaskier’s song fading behind him.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

“Graveir … great fear?” Jaskier mumbled as he strummed. “Took down the beast that caused great fear? No. Fuck, that’s not anything. When will we reach the next town?”

Geralt threw his saddle bags on the ground a few feet from where Jaskier sat composing on a fallen log.

“Two days.”

Jaskier tossed aside his paper dramatically. “Great, plenty of time. I’ll chronicle your heroics after I’ve recharged my creative juices then.”

“You mean when you’re not hungover.”

“Of course that’s what I mean, but I like to express it more elegantly, which I will be able to do after I get some sleep. Why you insisted on leaving at daybreak I’ll never know,” Jaskier lamented as he splayed out on the ground and leaned back against the tree. The sun had already started to set but the air was still warm and comfortable, and his head really did hurt. “Those people adored us, we could have stayed a few days longer, let them truly express their gratitude, been pampered, paid, shared a bed or two … or three … or two at the same time. Or three at the same time. Maybe that’s too ambitious.”

“I didn’t make you leave.”

“We’re a team Geralt. You said you were leaving, that means I’m leaving,” Jaskier said then scooted further down to get more comfortable and laid his head back. “I’m also napping.”

Geralt kicked his leg. They were stopped for the night in a clearing off the road, there was no point in napping when they were going to sleep for the night soon.

“Whaaat?” Jaskier whined.

“Get some firewood while I go catch something for supper,” he said, sounding gruff and uninterested even as Jaskier’s words about them being a team burned into his mind and tried to penetrate into his heart.

“Me? But you’re so strong and self-sufficient and grrrrrr, you know.”

“I do, that’s why I’m hunting animals while you pick up dead sticks. Unless you don’t want to eat,” Geralt threatened, though they both knew it was an empty threat. After all these years Geralt would never let Jaskier go hungry if he had food to share.

Jaskier sighed and got his feet under him in a huff. “I want to eat.”

“Good.” Geralt took his smaller sword out of its scabbard and started eyeing the forest around them to figure out which direction would be best to hunt in.

“Still hunting with a sword, are you?” Jaskier asked. They had been stopping in towns for the last few weeks and this was the first time Geralt had needed to hunt for them in awhile.

Geralt just raised an eyebrow in response. “What do you hunt with?”

Jaskier tried to think of something impressive to say but his face fell as he answered, “My … wits?”

“Explains why you’re so skinny.”

“Hey!”

“Get some firewood or I burn the lute,” Geralt said as a last warning before he entered the woods and quickly disappeared from sight.

“Rude,” Jaskier muttered, hugging his lute tightly. “They don’t teach you manners at Witcher school?”

When he was certain Geralt was a safe distance away he placed the instrument back in its case and then wandered to the edge of the clearing to start collecting the firewood for supper. As much as he grumbled he didn’t mind the task, it was actually rather routine for them now after travelling together so long. Whenever they had to spend a night under the stars Geralt would hunt for them while Jaskier tended to Roach and the fire. It was almost domestic. Jaskier wasn’t sure why the thought made him smile.

Arms full he went back out to the clearing and dropped the wood near their bags. He was about to go back for more when Roach neighed and sputtered from where she was tied up a few feet to his left.

“What’s wrong? He forget to feed you before he left? Well that makes two of us, you’re not special,” Jaskier said but also moved to check on her, remembering a few weeks ago when she had made a similar noise because two snakes were snapping at her feet. As he came closer Roach got louder though, kicking and snorting almost desperately. Jaskier stretched out his hands as he approached. “Whoa easy, what’s wrong? Why are you … ugh!”

Jaskier’s question was answered by a dark figure emerging from the bushes and striking him hard across the face before he could even process what was happening.

“Oh hell … bastard …” Jaskier muttered. He landed on his side, clutching at his quickly swelling eye but started to crawl away instinctually, pushing himself up and towards the direction he had seen Geralt leave. His attacker would have none of that though and kicked him in the stomach, sending him back to the ground breathlessly.

Jaskier didn’t try to move again. As he lay there gasping and clutching at the ground he held up a hand in a sign of submission, as though that may protect him. “Okay … okay … I get it.”

“I doubt that,” he heard a voice mutter and then suddenly several sets of hands were on him, accompanied by the sound of armor clinking and footsteps approaching from several directions. A strong grip on each of his arms and his hair forced him onto his knees and made him look up as a man in light armor approached. He was fair skinned and appeared well built, in his late thirties, with his hair cropped neatly and clean. His clothing bore an insignia but it was too dark and Jaskier’s vision was too hazy for him to make it out clearly.

“The coins are in the saddle bag, just take what you want,” Jaskier said quickly, hoping Geralt would forgive him for giving up their money so readily. His eyes swept back towards Roach and spotted his bag nearby. “I’d leave the lute though it’s … cursed. Cursed lute. Dreadful thing. I wouldn’t take it. Horse too.”

The man glared and took another step forward.

“Do I look like a common bandit to you?” He asked, his stern posture never wavering.

Jaskier flinched as the grip on his hair tightened.

“Now that you mention it … not especially. A very special bandit then or …” Jaskier’s vision finally corrected allowing him to focus on the man’s dress. He shuddered and swallowed. “Nilfgaard.”

The man nodded, seemingly pleased that Jaskier was becoming more lucid.

“Commander Darius Stent, Nilfgaardian Military. We’ve been looking for you for some time,” he said. He drew a dagger from his belt and knelt down on one knee.

Jaskier began to struggle against the hands holding him as the commander drew closer, blade glistening in the moonlight.

“And what, pray tell, does a Nilfgaardian commander want with me?” He asked, his voice stammering.

Stent smiled, knife twirling in his grasp. “You’re a bard aren’t you?”

“Y … yes.”

“Sing for me,” the commander said.

Jaskier’s brow furrowed but before he could voice his confusion the blade was driven deep into his shoulder.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Jaskier screamed in shock and pain. He wanted to pull away but the strong grips on his arms kept him still. He gasped for breath. “Stop, please, whatever you want … just stop.”

Stent tilted his head to the side, considering Jaskier’s words, then pushed the knife in deeper. Jaskier screamed again, louder than he had in his life, certain he could feel the blade tip scraping across the bone in his shoulder.

“Stop please, stop!” Jaskier begged again. This time Stent smiled wider, pulled out the blade and patted his cheek.

“Good boy,” he said. He stood up and walked away but his absence did nothing to make Jaskier feel better. His head was spinning with pain and confusion, why were Nilfgaardian soldiers attacking him, why torture him but ask no questions, why any of it.

Jaskier’s head lolled to the side and he watched as Commander Stent swept his gaze over the horizon, as did the half dozen men with him that Jaskier could see. It was like they were looking for ...

“No … Geralt,” Jaskier muttered as he realized he was bait.

“No,” he said, slightly louder, then took in a deeper breath to shout, “Geralt it’s a …!”

He was cut off by the hand in his hair moving to cover his mouth and then a new blade appeared at his throat.

“We don’t need you alive boy, quiet or we cut your throat.”

Shit. Jaskier had never succeeded in being quiet in his entire life. He was so very fucked.

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

As Geralt stalked through the woods he was grateful Jaskier wasn’t there. It took stealth to sneak up on an animal at night and that boy hadn’t been quiet in his entire life. It was no wonder that all these years later Geralt was still the one doing all the hunting. At least the bard had improved at his ability to make fires. Next they needed to work on his ability to not whine about it.

Geralt crept another foot, sword pulled back and ready to strike into the rabbit under the bush ahead of him. It would likely be safe from any other hunter, but his Witcher senses allowed him to see the creature easily even in the dead of night. If he could find a second one he could be done quickly.

Just as he was about to strike though his arm faltered and his foot slipped, breaking a twig that sent the rabbit away on alert. It didn’t matter though, Geralt swung back towards the direction he had come from, heart racing from the piercing scream that had cut through the air from their camp. Jaskier.

He had never heard the bard make a sound like that. It hadn’t been a scream of fright from an animal or an inconvenient fall - it was agonized and desperate. Before Geralt had even made it a step another scream cut through the air, louder and longer than the first, keening with pain.

Geralt started to run.

A few moments later he burst into the clearing, not surprised but disheartened to find himself surrounded on all sides by Nilfgaardian soldiers and Jaskier on his knees, bleeding and gagged with a knife at his throat. Dammit.

Geralt slowed his stride and walked into the light slowly, clutching his sword tightly but not raising it yet. He counted the soldiers. At least a dozen. Armed and waiting. This wasn’t good. He had expected bandits not a strategic ambush. He should have waited in the forest, assessed the situation, but all he had been able to hear was Jaskier’s screams.

Well he was here now, facing down who he assumed was the commander of these men, a broad-shouldered soldier who stood waiting a few feet to Jaskier’s left.

“Geralt of Rivia I assume,” the man said in greeting when Geralt stopped at the edge of the clearing.

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” Geralt demanded, fingers clutching at his sword. He didn’t like to kill humans, he tried not to get involved, but these men had very much involved him. His gaze shifted to Jaskier, bleeding and terrified, being held across the field from him and tried to shoot the bard the briefest look to say it would be all right. But Jaskier shook his head.

“I’m Commander Darius Stent of the Nilfgaardian army. And what I want is for you to come with us,” Stent replied calmly.

Geralt clenched his jaw.

“Or the boy dies?”

Stent held out his arms like it was obvious. “Of course.”

As if on cue the man gagging Jaskier pulled him back by his hair, releasing his mouth to pull the dagger in tighter against his skin.

“Oh god,” Jaskier muttered, struggling to back away but unable to escape the blade that was now drawing blood.

“Stop it,” Geralt shouted. “Whatever you want he’s not part of it.”

“That’s up for debate,” Stent said. “From what we’re told he’s very much part of why we’re here. For the child of surprise.”

Geralt’s eyes went as wide as Jaskier’s at that. What the hell did Nilfgaard care about his child of surprise?

“There’s no child here,” Geralt said.

“Clearly,” Stent said. “But my lord would still like to discuss the matter with you, personally.”

“Let the boy go and we’ll talk,” Geralt said but Stent laughed.

“Put the sword down and I’ll let him live,” Stent counter-offered. “Raise it even an inch and he dies.”

Geralt glanced at Jaskier. The knife at his neck was pulled tight and the men holding his arms had their swords drawn - there was no way Geralt could free him before a fatal blow was struck by one of them.

“If he dies I’ll kill you all,” Geralt said. To his credit, Stent looked like he believed him.

“I have no doubt, but in that case the bard will be dead as well. So, do you want to kill us, or do you want to save your friend?”

They were all surprised when a sad laugh escaped Jaskier’s lips at Stent’s ultimatum. The knife at his throat told him not to elaborate, but he couldn’t help but huff to himself that he and Geralt weren’t friends, at least according to the Witcher on numerous occasions.

Geralt met Jaskier’s gaze then and the bard found himself taking in a deep breath at what he saw. He knew Geralt of Rivia better than anyone alive, he knew what that look meant; guilt and regret.

Jaskier steeled himself and nodded as much as he could.

“It’s okay Geralt,” he said, trying to absolve him of what he was about to do. “Just go.”

It was Geralt’s turn to huff in indignation and shake his head. “Foolish bard.”

Jaskier’s brow furrowed in confusion, certain Geralt had been about to flee or fight his way to freedom. But instead the Witcher met Stent’s eye and threw away his sword.

“No, Geralt!” Jaskier cried, surprised by how much he didn’t want this, but Geralt ignored him and even knelt on the ground, giving himself up completely.

“Wonderful,” Stent said, nodding to a man on his right. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

“I’m still going to kill you,” Geralt promised. If Stent had a reply Geralt didn’t hear it before the handle of the soldier’s sword crashed into his temple, knocking him unconscious.

TBC


	2. Waking and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking, water and whump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful response! I'm so happy you are all excited to whump our boys. Enjoy!

The world was moving when Geralt eased into consciousness. Without opening his eyes he could feel sun on his skin and heard the clip of several hoofbeats and the roll of carriage wheels. Holding back a grunt of pain from his throbbing head he finally opened his eyes and found he was on the back of a cart, locked in a tight metal cage just big enough for him to sit up in with his hands cuffed in front of him.

“Morning.”

He sighed in relief to see Jaskier was alive, though hardly in good shape. He was pale, his eyes sunken in, a bruise forming on his cheek and blood stained his tunic from a nick on his neck and a larger wound in his shoulder. The bard’s hands were bound with a long length of rope tied to the back of the carriage, forcing him to follow along behind it. Bastards, Geralt thought, there was more than enough room to let him sit in the carriage.

“Sleep well?” Jaskier asked, forcing a cheerfulness over the pain and panic in his tone as he stumbled along.

“How long have we been moving?” Geralt asked, ignoring pleasantries for information. He could tell by the sun that they were heading south, towards Nilfgaard.

“Few hours,” Jaskier said. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts.”

“Good,” Jaskier muttered, looking down at the road.

“What’s your problem?” Geralt asked, his voice going even raspier with annoyance.

Jaskier clenched his jaw then sped up so he was closer to the cart and whispered, “I told you to run.”

“You’d rather be dead in that field?” 

“I’d _rather_ not feel guilty about you being in a cage headed to Nilfgaard to be tortured or something.”

“I’d rather that too but here we are,” Geralt said. “And for the record we’re likely both going to be tortured.”

Jaskier exhaled loudly. “Maybe the dead in the field option wasn’t so bad. At least there I got to sit.” 

A soldier on horseback was riding nearby and came closer when he heard them talking. 

“You alive then witcher?” the soldier asked, to which Geralt grunted in reply.

Jaskier looked up at him and smiled though. “Due to stop soon I’d wager, yes? We’re all tired, aren’t we boys? Could use a break.”

“Shut up,” the soldier ordered and kicked Jaskier in the ribs.

“Right,” Jaskier grunted and stumbled but managed to keep his feet under him, fully aware they would just drag him along if he fell. In the carriage Geralt growled and kicked the bars of his cage.

“Leave him be,” Geralt said and received the blunt end of a spear in the back for his troubles. He tried to grab the weapon but it was pulled away too quickly, so he grabbed the bars of the cage and shook them.

“Sit down” the soldier ordered. “Try to break that cage and the bard will have a new hole in his neck to sing out of.”

This threat was punctuated by another sword being brought to hover near Jaskier’s throat.

“Lovely,” Jaskier muttered, now playing a terrible balance game of trying to keep up with the cart without walking into the blade in front of him. Geralt glared at the man but made a point of releasing the bars and sitting back down calmly in the cage.

“That’s better,” the soldier said smugly.

The sword was pulled away and Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” he mouthed at Geralt silently.

Clearly feeling triumphant, the soldier kicked his horse into a faster trot and moved ahead of the cart. There were still a dozen more men fanning them from behind and ahead, but none were within direct earshot now.

“Roach is fine by the way,” Jaskier said softly, inclining his head behind and to the left where Roach was being led riderless behind another soldier. “In case you were worried. About her.”

It actually was a comfort to know she hadn’t been killed or left alone tied up in the field, but she wasn’t exactly Geralt’s first concern.

“How are you holding up?” Geralt asked, looking Jaskier over and not liking what he saw. The bard was clearly only barely able to keep the pace set by the cart.

“Oh fine, not to worry. After all those years of walking next to Roach this is nothing. And I don’t even have to carry my lute. Piece of cake,” Jaskier said, and the words may have even been comforting if he hadn’t started gasping at the end. 

“Save your breath Jaskier. Just keep walking until I figure out a way out of here.” Looking over the sturdiness of the cage he was in though he wasn’t certain how he was going to do that. A burst of Aard wouldn’t be concentrated enough to damage the strong metal and if he tried using Igni he’d likely just light the cart on fire and risk burning himself alive in the cage.

“Will do, walking it is,” Jaskier said, unaware of Geralt’s internal concerns. “That was kind of already my plan, not that I have much choice, but I appreciate the support.”

An hour later the sun was high in the sky and Jaskier was fading fast, stumbling with each step and his eyes glazed with exhaustion. Geralt was moments away from demanding the bard be given a break when they came upon a bridge going over a wide brook and the commander called a stop to rest and water the horses.

The second the carriage stopped Jaskier dropped to his knees, breathing heavily and dropping his forehead to rest on the back of the cart. Geralt grumbled unpleasantly at the sight, torn between not wanting to draw the attention of the violent men around them to the bard and wanting to ensure he was given a proper rest and water. 

“Jaskier …?” Geralt said softly, not even sure what he was asking. Jaskier lifted his head slowly and forced a smile while nodding.

“Lovely spot, great place to stop, I’ll just … I’ll just be down here, if you need me,” Jaskier said, unable to hold up his own weight and crumbling forward even more.

“Dammit Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled, though he couldn’t blame the bard for passing out. He grabbed onto the bars of his cage and tried to will them out of existence by sheer hatred. When that didn’t work he pulled at them, trying to get to his friend, but stopped when two soldiers dismounted and approached the back of the carriage.

“You alive bard?” one of them asked, kicking him in the back.

“Ah,” Jaskier grunted but the kick had little force behind it. Still, he made the effort to roll onto his knees and look up at the men. “What answer will lead to you leaving me alone?”

“Being dead.”

“Fuck. It’s not my day.”

The second soldier, a man about Jaskier’s age with a mop of brown curls and brown eyes, knelt down in front of Jaskier and began to untie his hands, being surprisingly gentle about removing the ropes that had already cut deep enough to cause red welts around both Jaskier’s wrists. When the rope was removed the man took Jaskier’s uninjured arm and hauled him to his feet.

“Come on,” the man said. 

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked, but was ignored as the three men moved off the road and down the embankment. 

“No no no, I heard your commander say we were resting, that it was rest time,” Jaskier said, desperate to collapse back onto the ground and get off his aching legs. “That’s a brilliant idea. You wouldn’t want to defy orders after all, let’s just all have a … a nice sit. Yes?” 

“Move it,” the first soldier said, pushing Jaskier down the incline and towards the water ahead. 

When they reached the river’s edge the brown-eyed man released Jaskier’s arm and motioned towards the water. 

“Drink up, I doubt we’re stopping again today,” he said.

It was a testament to just how ravenously thirsty Jaskier was that he made no reply, instead he stumbled to the water’s edge, knelt down and began cupping water in his palms to drink. The man next to him left him to it and pulled out his own canteen to fill. Drinking too quickly, Jaskier started coughing and leaned back from the water. 

“I thought you were thirsty boy, go on, get in there,” the older soldier said. His cruel chuckle was the only warning Jaskier got before a boot collided with the small of his back and sent him headfirst into the water where Jaskier sputtered and bit back a cry of pain. The water was only deep enough to soak his clothes through but he landed on his wounded shoulder and struggled to push himself back up. 

“Fucking …” Upon seeing the soldier was standing behind him with an amused smile and a hand on the handle of his sword, Jaskier cut off the litany of swear words he wanted to spew at the man and forced a smile on his face. “So refreshing. Thank you.”

“Jesus christ,” the younger soldier muttered and Jaskier was pleasantly surprised to find the outburst directed at his tormentor and not him. “Do you have to be such an ass?”

“Don’t have to be, no, but it fills the day.”

The younger soldier rolled his eyes and reached a hand out to Jaskier, who hesitated before allowing the man to help haul him out of the river. The soldier frowned when he saw the water dripping down the bard’s chest was staining the rocks pink with blood. 

“That needs to be bandaged. Sit down,” he said, pulling the fabric of the shirt away enough to see the wound. 

“What the hell are you doing?” the second soldier demanded, unimpressed with his companion’s compassion.

“The commander told us to take care of him.”

“He didn’t actually mean “take care” of him.”

The soldier huffed in frustration. “You’re welcome to go ask the commander if he wanted us to take the bard to the river and drown him or take him down to the river and make sure he doesn’t die, but I’m going to assume he meant the second one.”

“Second one sounds right to me too,” Jaskier added from his seat on the rocks, nodding enthusiastically. “He definitely meant the second one. I wouldn’t even bother asking him, honestly, seems obvious.”

“Shut your mouth bard,” the grumpy one growled before shaking his head. “Do what you like. I’m getting some food.”

Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away then turned his attention to the soldier in front of him.

“Untie that as best you can,” the soldier said, indicating the strings holding Jaskier’s tunic closed. “I don’t want to have to cut it.”

Jaskier hesitated. The man had been as close to kind as anyone could hope for in this situation but he was still very much taking part in kidnapping him. He watched the man rifle through his bag for a moment and only when he saw him pull out a needle and thread did he start to follow through on the man’s orders, untying the front of his shirt enough to expose the wound on his right shoulder.

“I don’t suppose your commander gave you any orders about feeding me, did he?”

“He didn’t say I couldn’t. Here.” The soldier paused preparing his needle to reach into his bag again and pull out an apple. He tossed it to Jaskier who just managed to catch it with his good arm. 

“Thanks,” Jaskier said, eyeing the man critically as he was pretty sure he had just given the bard food from his own personal rations. That didn’t stop him from immediately taking a bite and groaning as the sweet fruit became the first thing he had eaten in almost a day, but it made him wonder how far he could push the man’s kindness.

“What about letting me wander away into those woods and never be seen again? He say anything about that?”

“That was a rather adamant no, I’m afraid,” the man replied.

“Shame,” Jaskier muttered, energy dropping as he took a tired bite of his apple. 

While the soldier threaded his needle Jaskier took in his surroundings. He was untied with a single guard, he could make a run for it, Geralt would probably thank him for it. If he got away the Witcher could likely break out on his own much easier. But Jaskier knew immediately it was a pipe dream - it was still mid-day and half a dozen soldiers with horses were lining the small river. He wouldn’t get half a dozen steps before he was overtaken again and likely beaten for trying to run. He doubted his current companion would be too harsh on him, but he seemed to be very much the exception within the violent group of men who had taken them.

“Can I ask your name?” Jaskier asked him, his voice suddenly small and desperate for a kind word.

“William,” the soldier said after a pause.

“Jaskier,” he replied.

William nodded and held up the threaded needle. “Hold still Jaskier, this will hurt.”

Jaskier scoffed as William leaned forward and pulled the skin together. “I travel with Geralt of Rivia, I’m quite accustomed to … OH JESUS CHRIST!”

William didn’t pull away as Jaskier screamed in pain but held off on running another stitch through his skin until he was sure the bard would stay still. For his part Jaskier took a deep breath through his nose and smiled.

“I’m fine, never better, stitch away,” he said through gritted teeth. William looked at him skeptically but ran the needle into his skin for another stitch. Jaskier tensed in pain then shoved the apple in his mouth and bit down straight to the core to keep from crying out. A few inches away William laughed but moved his fingers as swiftly as possible.

“All done,” he announced a few moments later.

“Oh thank god,” Jaskier said, sliding further down onto the ground. “This is the most exhausting rest I’ve ever taken.”

William’s gaze swept up to the road where soldiers and horses were slowly getting back into configuration.

“Finish your apple, we’re leaving soon.”

The announcement threatened to break something in Jaskier. He felt safer with Geralt in sight but he had no desire to return to walking behind the damn cart for the rest of the day. He knew he would only last another hour at most and he was terrified to find out what would happen when he finally collapsed at the back of the convoy. 

He took another tired bite of his apple, swallowed gravely and then looked up at William. “They’re going to kill us, you know that.”

William looked away. He couldn’t deny it. “Well, you’re alive right now. Come on, get up.”

Jaskier clenched his jaw but allowed William to pull him to his feet by his good arm. When they got back up to the road and within sight of Geralt Jaskier managed to force a grin back on his face that in no way reached his eyes. He could see the Witcher looking him up and down, undoubtedly taking in his disheveled and soaked clothing and glaring a hole into the soldier accompanying him.

“Wonderful day for a swim,” Jaskier muttered as William tied his hands back up. “Absolutely exhilarating. Highly recommend it. Great when you’ve got to walk even more … in the sun.”

The exclamation was meant for Geralt but he could see William hesitate out of the corner of his eye before the soldier sighed and unclasped the wooden hinge at the back of the cart. 

“Get in,” he said, motioning his head inside the cart. Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he stood still in disbelief for a moment. 

“What?”

“Get in the damn cart, Jaskier,” Geralt hissed, as aware as the bard that he wouldn’t last the day walking in the sun with his injuries.

“Right, right, going,” Jaskier said, clambering up awkwardly with his tied hands. William watched as he situated himself and then locked the hinge as soon as Jaskier’s feet were pulled in. 

“Do me a favor and keep quiet back there,” William requested, not wishing to draw attention to the fact that he was giving their prisoner a reprieve without permission. 

“Absolutely, not a problem, I won’t make a sound, the silent bard they call me,” Jaskier promised, nodding enthusiastically as William walked away. Jaskier frowned when he was gone and turned to Geralt, “Should I feel bad, just lying to him like that?”

“You should get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Jaskier nodded more solemnly and shifted himself lower to lie his head against the back of the cart. Then there was a shout from the front of the group and the convoy started moving again, taking them towards Nilfgaard. Who knew what their fate would be from there. 

“What the hell do they even want with us?” Jaskier asked, quickly breaking his promise of silence. 

“The child of surprise,” Geralt said, recalling Stent’s words the night before.

“What do they care about it?”

“They’re going to attack Cintra,” Geralt said, his tone confident.

Jaskier actually laughed. “Good luck. I wouldn’t want to face Queen Calanthe in battle.”

Geralt hmmed in a way that Jaskier knew meant he agreed with him.

“The child surprise is almost at marriage age,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier nodded in understanding. “Ah yes, if they attack Cintra and get their hands on her they can force her into marriage and declare themselves our wonderful new overloads completely legally. That’s great. All the monsters you’ve fought and we’re going to reach our end because of some political war between regular humans.”

“Humans and monsters are not that different.”

Jaskier shuffled down further and closed his eyes, determined to sleep. “I wish they were.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - William is a nice boy but there is no romance happening here. Just need him for plot reasons later. That is all! Hope you liked it.


	3. Everyone's A Critic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt works on a plan and Jaskier sings for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind comments and kudos. Sorry for the delay.

When Jaskier opened his eyes again the sun was setting and the horses were moving at a slow trot and huffing with exhaustion after a day in the hot sun. He understood how they felt and groaned as he sat up, his legs sore from walking and his stitched up shoulder throbbing in pain. He looked over at Geralt whose gaze only swept over him briefly as he was apparently busy glaring at everything in sight. So the usual for him then.

“We’re still here, huh?”

“Where else would we be?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier shrugged. “I was holding on to a shred of hope that I was just having a terrible nightmare about being kidnapped by Nilfgaard.”

“You haven’t been kidnapped by Nilfgaard,” Geralt said. “You’ve been arrested.”

“No, being arrested implies I did something wrong and I am as innocent as a flower in winter. As a flower in any season! No Geralt, this is a kidnapping and I won’t stand for it.”

Geralt hmmed and Jaskier sat up straighter to lean closer to his cage.

“I mean it, I would very much like to get out of here and as I assume you do too I eagerly await hearing what you thought of to expedite our release from this hell,” Jaskier said but felt his stomach tighten with disappointment when Geralt clenched his jaw and shook his head. 

“We’ll see what happens at nightfall. If they let me out of this damn thing that’s when we have a chance.”

“Right, good luck with that, because they haven’t been prepared for your towering demeanour every step of the way so far,” Jaskier said and flinched when Geralt growled at him. “You’re right, you’re right, that’s not helping.”

“What I need are keys,” Geralt said, his gruff voice as quiet as it gets. “And a distraction.”

“Well a distraction I could make happen no problem. I was born to be a distraction,” Jaskier said confidently. “Keys on the other hand …”

Jaskier trailed off and shrugged. He was a bard not a pickpocket, even if he had slightly more freedom than Geralt he didn’t know how to turn that into an opportunity for them to escape. 

Their conversation was interrupted by light shouting from the front saying they were stopping for the night and Geralt sat up straighter, needing to take in every detail of where they would be spending the next few hours. Jaskier also watched as the caravan moved off the road and into a clearing but was mostly looking out for any sign of food.

Not long after the cart was parked and the horses settled William appeared again and unlatched the hinge on the gate.

“I want to talk to your commander,” Geralt said, his voice a deep rumble that most wouldn’t argue with. William just huffed and shook his head though.

“Even I don’t want to talk to our commander, you’re best off just staying out of his way,” William said then handed a canteen to Jaskier.

“Sweet merciful suns,” Jaskier whispered before tilting it back greedily. He felt rejuvenated as the water hit his parched throat but stopped himself after two gulps and handed the rest to Geralt through the bars of the cage. While the Witcher finished off the canteen, Jaskier looked at William. “Any chance of getting something a little stronger?”

“You keep pushing things bard, you’re going to get knocked over eventually,” William said, but not unkindly, taking the empty canteen back. He motioned with his head for Jaskier to get out. “Come on, let’s stretch your legs.”

Jaskier pushed back further into the cart though and looked at Geralt in his periphery, not wishing to be separated from the Witcher. Even locked up Geralt’s glaring could keep a large portion of trouble at bay. “That’s all right, had plenty of stretch today, I’m good here.”

“So you don’t need the privy?” William asked.

Jaskier tilted his head and considered it. “All right, one quick trip.”

He shuffled forward and William helped him down by his uninjured arm and started to lead him away with his hands still bound. 

“Wait …” Jaskier stopped abruptly. “What about Geralt?”

William sent an apologetic look towards Geralt and shook his head. “The commander’s got the only keys to that cage. What happens to the Witcher is up to him.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest further but Geralt just tilted his head to indicate he should move so the bard went with William to the edge of the forest while Geralt contemplated this new information William had given them. Geralt felt his shoulders relax a few minutes later when his bard was returned unharmed and dry this time. William took a blanket from the back of the carriage and sat Jaskier down by the wheel of the cart. 

“You’ll be here for the night,” William said then glanced at the dozen soldiers unpacking and taking up watch positions around the camp. “I don’t recommend you try to run.”

“Solid suggestion. Got any others?” Jaskier asked, clutching the blanket in his still bound hands.

“Keep quiet.”

“Oh no, that won’t be happening.”

“Jaskier …” Geralt warned.

“All right, I’ll do my best,” Jaskier promised, shaking out his blanket dramatically then cringing as it pulled on his injured shoulder. 

“I need to speak to your commander,” Geralt said again. William sighed and cast a wary glance towards the command tent that was being set up across the field.

“I’ll tell him, but I guarantee nothing,” William said before turning around to walk away.

“Nice fellow,” Jaskier commented as he laid out his blanket. “I hope he … fuck, he didn’t feed us! That bastard. I’m starving.”

Geralt had been making a point of ignoring the clawing feeling in his own stomach but knew it would be just as bad for Jaskier, they had both been captured before eating supper the night before. 

Jaskier looked around hopefully at the soldiers milling about. “Maybe I can get some food off someone else.”

“Don’t push your luck Jaskier.”

“That’s all I do, Geralt.” 

Thankfully, despite his words, Jaskier settled onto his makeshift bed and stayed quiet as night fell and the camp settled, with half the soldiers standing on watch and the other half gathered around a large fire that provided the only light to see by.

It was nearly an hour later when Jaskier looked across the field to the command tent and sat up straighter.

“Uh Geralt, I think the commander’s coming.”

Geralt hmmed in agreement then glanced down at Jaskier. “Keep your mouth shut.”

Normally that would be a problem for the bard but every time his shoulder throbbed he remembered the commander’s dagger digging into his flesh the night before, an encounter he had no desire to relive.

“Yeah, not a problem.”

As Commander Stent strolled over he smiled smugly down at Geralt in his cage.

“I’m told you wanted to speak with me, Witcher,” Stent said in greeting. “Say your piece but if you’re about to waste my time they’ll be hell to pay.”

“I want to know what it will take to get me out of this cage,” Geralt said.

Stent scoffed. “I thought witchers had no emotions but I was certain they had patience. We’ll be in Nilfgaard in a few days. You’ll hold until then.”

“You misunderstand,” Geralt said, gritting his teeth and leaning forward. “I don’t want to stretch my legs, I want to know what my freedom will cost me. Name your price. A monster killed, an opponent assassinated. If it’s the child surprise you’re after I’ll gladly give up my claim to it. I never wanted it in the first place.”

“You make an interesting proposal, but I’m afraid there’s nothing you can offer me. My Lord himself has demanded you be brought to his door, therefore there’s nothing more to be said on the matter. Good night.”

“You have no ambition? No goals a Witcher could help you fill?” Geralt asked. 

The commander turned quickly with a laugh, and a distinct jingling sound on his belt. “My ambitions run deeper than you can imagine, and they all involve the glory of Nilfgaard and our lord and king. Delivering you to him will be a greater boon to me than anything a hundred witchers could ever offer.”

“A simple no would have sufficed,” Jaskier muttered from his place on the ground, then sat up tensely when he realized he had spoken out loud. Above him, Geralt rolled his eyes in frustration. 

Stent smirked however, took a step back and observed Jaskier in the faint light from the fire across the field.

“I’d almost forgotten about you,” Stent said, making Jaskier close his eyes with regret for speaking. “You know, I’m not certain my lord has need of you.”

As Stent spoke he slowly withdrew a dagger from his belt, the same dagger Jaskier had been stabbed with the night before.

“Ah … I uh … now … what you haven’t considered is … ah!” Jaskier tried to scurry away from the commander but Stent grabbed him by the hair with his free hand and pulled him to his feet. 

“Leave him!” Geralt said and tried to swipe at Stent but the man stood just out of reach.

“You have one chance, bard,” Stent said. Jaskier brought his hands up to try to pull himself free and gasped in surprise when the dagger suddenly cut through the rope binding his wrists.

“What?” Jaskier muttered dumbfounded.

“Bring his instrument,” the commander said to one of three men who were standing nearby and within moments Jaskier’s lute made its way back into his hands. “I hear you’ve performed for Queen Calanthe herself. You must be quite talented. Keep myself and my men sufficiently entertained for the evening and I’ll let you live another day.”

Jaskier swallowed and looked at Geralt - at least a few puzzle pieces were falling into place. Jaskier had performed for Queen Calanthe only once - at the betrothal of her daughter when Geralt claimed his child surprise. He recalled now that a Prince of Nilfgaard had been in attendance that evening as well and must have reported back to his king about what had transpired. 

“What do you say, bard?” Stent asked, mere inches from Jaskier’s face. 

Geralt just nodded tightly in encouragement while Jaskier met Stent’s eye and shrugged. “Any requests?”

Stent said nothing, only pushed him towards the fire where all the soldiers not on watch or guarding Geralt were sitting around on logs, eating and chatting though most turned as Jaskier stumbled towards them with Stent a few steps behind.

“Gentlemen,” Stent said, moving past Jaskier to take a seat in a nearby chair a subordinate had placed for him. “Our esteemed guest is going to grace us with a performance and for his sake it had better be a damn good one.”

Suddenly all eyes were on Jaskier and he swallowed noticeably though it did little to parch his dry thought. 

“Right, well …” Jaskier stuttered as he hefted his lute into both hands. He wasn’t normally nervous before performing but his life didn’t usually hang in the balance either. He strummed a cord to make sure the lute was still tuned and grimaced - technically he could play but the stab wound in his shoulder was going to make it extremely painful and he had a sinking suspicion his audience wouldn’t care about his discomfort. He also noticed there was no ale being passed around anywhere, meaning this audience was stone cold sober, which almost never worked out well for a bard. 

Perhaps worst of all though, he couldn’t remember a single damn song. 

“Um …” he strummed another cord and started to panic. He was a bard for god’s sake - he had to know a fucking song! Anything!

“Come on then! Play for us fancyboy!” one of the men shouted suddenly and was met with a chorus of agreement from his companions.

Jaskier looked up and saw William sitting amongst the unsatisfied crowd, frowning with concern though his eyes shone with encouragement.

“Don’t leave us waiting,” another shouted. 

Jaskier shook out his fingers and looked around frantically until his gaze finally landed on Geralt. The light from the fire barely reached the Witcher but Jaskier was sure he could see a frustrated look on Geralt’s face that said “just play something you idiot.” Jaskier sighed. He remembered a song.

“ _When a humble bard,_

_Graced a ride-a-long,_

_With Geralt of Rivia, along came this … ow!_ ”

Jaskier yelped as he was pelted with what he thought was a fork. Whatever happened to bread?

“We don’t want to hear about your damn Witcher!” a soldier shouted. “Sing of Nilfgaard!”

A chorus of applause. 

“Yes, Nilfgaard!” “To glorious Nilfgaard, the jewel of the south!”

“Of course. My apologies. Obviously nothing can compare to the glory of Nilfgaard,” Jaskier said, hoping he sounded sincere because internally he was thinking more along the lines of “fuck fuck fuck”. Nilfgaard was a notoriously awful country, low on victories of any kind, where he had never performed and that he knew absolutely no songs about. He was going to have to wing this. 

He strummed again, this time hitting a livelier tune and trying to ignore the unimpressed face of Commander Stent that was telling him he was going to die shortly.

His life on the line, Jaskier began to sing again.

_Came a tribe from the south, brave and bold_

_Bearing banners of Silver and Gold_

_Tried and true, to subdue all their foes_

_Nilfgaard as the story goes!_

When they heard their country’s name Jaskier was gifted a few shouts of encouragement and even some clapping in time from a few of the men, making him continue on louder with a quicker pace. 

_Keep Nilfgaard colors to the fore_

_For we must win so fight, fight, fight!_

_And we'll advance to distance shores,_

_The Nilfgaard flag flies high tonight,_

_We'll fling the Silver Banner out,_

_And Nilfgaard’s men will fight, fight, fight;_

_The bells of Kings each victory shout_

_The bells of Nilfgaard ring tonight._

Jaskier had never been so relieved to receive a round of applause in his life but as he strummed the last chord the soldiers cheered and he thought he just might live through the night, as long as none of them realized he had just taken a song about Cintra and changed the words a little to match Nilfgaard’s colors and location. The men demanded another, and even Stent seemed to be smiling lightly. Jaskier nodded and held up a hand to temper them as he tried to think of something else with lyrics he could change. He came up with one that would be a little trickier so ran the changes through his head quickly before starting up again.

_“Ten thousand men of Nilfgaard want vict'ry today,_

_For they know that o'er the continent_

_Fair Cintra holds sway._

_So then we'll conquer all old Cintra's men,_

_And when the battle comes to end, we'll sing again:_

_Ten thousand men of Nilfgaard gained vict'ry today!”_

They cheered again and Jasker smiled, trying to hide that he had almost messed that one up and had just barely switched the names properly. He couldn’t risk another, he strummed again and broke into “Fishmonger’s Daughter” hoping they had had enough of the patriotic stuff for the moment. None seemed to mind and most laughed along to the raunchier song. Jaskier saw Stent look fairly pleased before he dropped into a quiet conversation with the man next to him and the bard hoped that meant he had earned himself the right to live for the night. 

Jaskier played two more raunchy tunes that the crowd enjoyed so much he even risked taking a drink from one of the men, slamming it back between songs. Most just laughed, especially as it was only water, and Jaskier made a show of wiping his mouth off before breaking into the next. Unfortunately they tired of his classics and demanded more songs of their country again.

“Another of Nilfgaard! A song of the south!” one man cried which was met with encouragement from the crowd.

“Very well, let me think,” Jaskier requested, though he was more relaxed now with one foot up on a stump while he rested his sore arm a moment between songs. Ah, he had it, this one would be easy enough to alter.

_“A soldier’s work is never done, in Nilfgaard or in any town,_

_There’s always foes and battles won, as soldiers work and lords get round,_

_A soldier frees his country with his blood and sweat and years_

_And when you go the ladies weep, the ground is soaked from all their tears_

_Through battles hard and sleepless nights,_

_A soldier’s rage, a soldier’s fight_

_A soldier saves his country, with copper, iron and with brass_

_And yet the glory goes to commanders who sit on their ass!”_

A roar of laughter and applause went up at that and Jaskier paused so it could die down, then his fingers missed a chord as he realized what he had just sung. He looked up at Stent; the commander wasn’t smiling any more. 

“Oh shit,” he whispered and stopped playing as Stent stood up, his posture stiff and expression cold. The soldiers quieted as well, covering their smiles with a hand but showing no signs of tension, only excitement to see what their commander would do to the bard who had clearly just messed up.

“Sir I’m so … obviously that wasn’t about you … you’re so … so very present in battle,” Jaskier said, stuttering and backtracking as the commander strode towards him. “You put other commanders to shame with your …”

Jaskier’s grovelling was cut short when Stent grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed his thumb down hard into the stab wound underneath.

“Oh god,” Jaskier mumbled, dropping his lute as his knees gave out from the pain, but Stent didn’t let go and just squeezed the wound harder, forcing the bard to stay upright. 

“Fuck! I’m sorry. Please stop,” Jaskier begged, fingers gripping at the commander’s belt desperately, trying to pull himself free, but Stent just continued silently until fresh blood was oozing down Jaskier’s chest and tears welled in his eyes. When Stent finally released him Jaskier fell face first into the ground, cradling his injured shoulder and shuddering with aftershocks of pain. Then Stent kicked him once in the stomach for good measure, knocking the wind out of him.

“I think that’s quite enough entertainment for this evening,” Stent said and was met with a round of laughter and applause from the men who had been cheering the bard on just moments before. All except one. 

As he caught his breath and the pain diminished Jaskier slowly unfurled and looked up to see William standing over him, frowning.

“Can you stand?” the soldier asked.

Jaskier scoffed and continued to move with deliberate slowness. “Are you kidding? I’ve been standing my whole life. I’m an … an expert at standing. Any minute now. I’ll show you.”

William sighed and it wasn’t dissimilar to the sound Geralt made when Jaskier clearly needed help and would only half-admit to it.

“Come on,” William said, picking Jaskier up by his good arm and guiding him back towards the cart with stumbling steps. As they passed the three guards who were watching Geralt they all snickered cruelly at the bard’s discomfort. Honestly though, Jaskier might have preferred it to the furious glare Geralt was directing at him as he approached.

“Jaskier, what the hell was that?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of anger. He had clearly seen and heard everything that had just happened to the bard and was pissed off that he had almost gotten himself killed.

“Personally I think it was one of my best performances,” Jaskier said tightly as William lowered him to the ground where he leaned against the wheel of the cart.

“Personally I think you’re lucky the commander didn’t kill you,” Geralt countered.

Jaskier nodded tiredly. “Oh good, we both agree.”

“You should work on your song choices before tomorrow,” William suggested.

“You think I’ll live that long?” Jaskier asked, only half-joking. William shrugged.

“He hasn’t killed you yet. He pulled your stitches though.”

“Leave them, please,” Jaskier asked when William tried to inspect the wound. “It’s too dark and I’m too tired.”

“All right. Wait here,” William said then jogged away towards the fire. When he was gone one of the guards sauntered closer to Jaskier, laughing as the bard slumped with pain and exhaustion against the wheel.

“Wonderful performance bard, especially the bit at the end.”

Jaskier smiled at him humorlessly, “Always happy to meet a fan.”

The guard laughed at him again and went back to his comrades. Geralt leaned forward in his cage. He knew Jaskier was just below him on the ground but hated that he couldn’t see him.

“Jaskier?"

“I’m fine,” Jaskier said quickly. Geralt’s brow furrowed. He heard the faint clink of metal but couldn’t tell what it was. “I’m just fine.”

Before Geralt could ask Jaskier what he was doing William returned, this time with a plate of food that actually looked edible which he held out to Jaskier.

The bard reached for it hesitantly and raised an eyebrow. “Judging by the commander’s scathing review of my performance I was fairly certain I hadn’t earned the right to eat.”

“He’s back in his tent and I thought you were great, so …” William shrugged and held the food out again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said, accepting the plate. “You hear that Geralt, he thought I was great.”

“You were literally just beaten for being terrible,” Geralt pointed out.

“He was beaten over the lyrics not the performance,” William said.

“Yes, the lyrics! He gets it. The singing was well received I’d say,” Jaskier said. “Fillingless pie, indeed.”

“My apologies,” Geralt said with no emotion behind it. “You clearly have a bright career ahead entertaining in Nilfgaardian prisons.”

“You always believe in me, thank you, it means a lot,” Jaskier said but his tone was deflating along with his energy. He leaned back against the wheel of the cart and picked at the potatoes on his plate then looked over at William who had taken up a watch position a few feet away.

“Sticking around for the night?” Jaskier asked.

William shrugged. “I’ll stay for awhile.”

Jaskier glanced at the other snickering soldiers standing even further away than William and had a feeling the young man was sticking around more to protect Jaskier than watch him. Oddly enough he would rather he didn’t this one time, but Jaskier could work with what he was given.

The bard took a bite of limp cabbage, grimaced and sat up straighter. 

“I think maybe you’re not supposed to eat directly after taking a beating,” he muttered, a hand over his stomach. “I may not keep this down. Can I give the rest to Geralt?”

William shrugged, his gaze mostly on the fire and command tent across the field. “Sure, go ahead.”

Jaskier kept his breathing steady and stood up slowly, his movements careful and waiting until he was eye to eye with the Witcher in his cage before holding out the plate.

“Here Geralt, it’s not half bad.”

Geralt grunted and made no move to take the offering. “Finish your food, Jaskier, you don’t know when you’ll be fed again.”

Jaskier grit his teeth. Geralt clearly thought Jaskier needed the food more than he did. Of all the times for him to be fucking noble.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said again, his voice hard in a way that surprised Geralt enough to turn and face the bard. He held the plate out again. “Take it.”

His tone made it clear it wasn’t a request, which intrigued Geralt more than anything. Geralt reached out to take the offering but when he tried to slip his fingers under the bottom of the plate he was stopped by a thin metal ring that Jaskier had pressed into his palm. Geralt leaned forward more and used both hands to take the offered food so he could grasp the bottom tightly. He didn’t dare look underneath but his fingers could feel loose metal jingling. Keys. 

He nodded to Jaskier.

“Thanks.” 

Jaskier offered him a relieved smile. “Don’t waste it.”

He lowered himself tentatively back to the ground and spared a glance towards William and their guards. They were all relaxed. None of them had seen a thing. 

Jaskier breathed. Maybe he had a future in pick-pocketing after all.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Geralt uses those keys!


	4. Dandelion, The Sad Silk Trader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys make their getaway, William's fate is decided and true feelings are revealed. (And there's more whump, obviously.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for going on this ride with me, Geralt and Jaskier. Enjoy the final chapter!

It didn’t take long for the camp to grow quiet. The laughter and small talk from the fire turned into men settling in to sleep and the guards on rotation yawned from boredom and watch duty. Geralt knew it was time to move. If the Commander noticed that Jaskier had stolen his keys then things were going to get increasingly more complicated around here, and by all likelihood Jaskier would be killed. They had to leave before that happened, in the pitch black when all was quiet.

“Geralt?” Jaskier said softly, as if he also sensed it was time to go. “Are you awake?”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear.

“Did you enjoy your dinner?” Jaskier asked, emphasizing dinner in a way to indicate he meant anything but. Geralt glanced down at his hands, completely hidden in the black of night, where he grasped the keys Jaskier had stolen and already used to uncuff his wrists. 

“Hmm,” Geralt said again, this time lilting up in a way that he knew Jaskier would recognize as an affirmative.

“Good,” Jaskier said, his voice so quiet it would be impossible for anyone to hear other than a Witcher with enhanced senses. “Since I got you the first thing we talked about do you think you can handle the second one?”

_Keys and a distraction_ , Geralt remembered.

Another hmm in agreement. 

“Were you thinking nowish?”

“Hmmm.”

“Excellent. Good talk,” Jaskier said sincerely. “I’ll leave you to do your thing.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed in confusion at that but he could only sit there as Jaskier cleared his throat loudly until William turned around to look at him from his position on watch.

“William, psst, over here,” Jaskier said, beckoning him over at a volume just loud enough for the soldier to hear but not wake the camp. William rolled his eyes but came over.

“What?”

“I uh … I need to use the facilities,” Jaskier said, motioning towards the forest. 

William sighed and motioned for him to stand up. “Yeah fine.”

“Wonderful,” Jaskier muttered and used the side of the cart to pull himself up to standing. He was face to face with Geralt for just a moment, though he could barely make out the witcher’s features in the dying light of the fire, but tried to offer an expression that said “good luck” and was certain he could feel Geralt’s gaze stay on him as he hobbled away.

William led him past two guards and into the tree line where he let him go ahead on his own.

“Please don’t try to run,” William said, his voice surprisingly sincere. “You wouldn’t make it three steps.”

“After the day I’ve had three steps sounds generous,” Jaskier huffed as he carefully walked over a log, his ribs aching from the beating he took earlier. He turned around and looked past William to the rest of the camp, now a quiet sleepy blur in the distance. This would have to do. He sighed and then spoke again, louder than before. “This is as far as I can go.”

William’s brow furrowed, unaware the comment hadn’t been meant for him. “Yeah, I just said …”

He was cut off by a stream of fire cutting through the air behind them and lighting a man on fire.

“What the fuck?!?” William shouted, watching wide-eyed as the burning man screamed in pain and started to run around the camp, desperate for help. Some soldiers moved out of his way, others rushed towards him with blankets trying to put him out, others awoke and just laid there in confusion about what was happening and no one noticed the Witcher using his newly acquired keys to open the door to his cage until he was barrelling out, tackling the nearest soldier and taking his sword as his own.

“That’s my cue,” Jaskier mumbled and took off stumbling into the woods to get as far away from the fight as possible. A body slammed into him quickly though and he fell face first into a tree. “Dammit.”

“You bastard, I told you not to run!” William shouted, reaching around to grab Jaskier’s wrists and pull them behind his back.

“I think I made it five whole feet,” Jaskier said as he lifted his head up from the bark.

William didn’t laugh.

“Come on,” he said, tugging Jaskier back towards the camp. It was hard to see exactly what was happening but they could hear screams and the clinck of metal on metal so Jaskier had to assume Geralt was still fighting and winning. For now.

William pushed him again and Jaskier planted his feet.

“No,” he said, pushing his weight back when William tried to send him forward. If he was taken back to camp as a prisoner it would be the same as last time; Geralt would have to stand down in battle to save his pathetic life and they would be right back to where they started. He couldn’t let that happen.

“No! Let me go! Let go!” Jaskier backed up his shouts by struggling fiercely in William’s grip, beyond lucky the young soldier hadn’t chosen to pull a weapon on him yet. 

“Get off!” Jaskier yelled as he managed to pull one arm free and shove William back. They stood a few apart, in their own little world as the camp continued to descend into chaos behind them. William pulled his sword free from its sheath and stared Jaskier down. The bard didn’t move, he didn’t even breathe.

William looked behind him; his fellow soldiers were dying, screaming out for help. 

“Fuck,” he whispered then looked back at Jaskier. “Go.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide with shock and he took a single step back as though testing the order. William just nodded, grunted in frustration then turned his back on the bard. Jaskier took another step and breathed a sigh of relief as William continued to show nothing but compassion by leaving him unbound and alone in the woods. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered then leaned against a tree and watched William start to jog back towards camp. 

With his sword drawn. 

Directly towards Geralt who was slaughtering every man in his path.

“Fuuuuuck, no,” Jaskier whispered. He should run into the woods. He should hide until Geralt was done killing all these men who had attacked them. He shouldn’t care. 

Except he cared. He cared a lot and it was damn inconvenient.

He ran after William and tackled the soldier to the ground just before he reached the camp.

“You son of a bitch!” William yelled, literally kicking Jaskier off him as he rolled over. Jaskier groaned as William’s boot connected with his cheek and then his ribs but reached out and grabbed hold of William’s pant leg to keep him from rushing into battle. “What the fuck are you doing? I let you go!”

“I know!” Jaskier shouted as loud as his aching ribs would allow, still holding on tight. “That’s why I’m trying to save your life.”

William kicked him again and finally pulled his foot free from the bard’s grasp. 

He stood up panting, sword still gripped in his hand as he looked down at Jaskier. “This is what I get for trying to help you?”

Jaskier wasn’t looking at William though, his eyes were fixed on the dark figure looming towards them.

“William, drop the sword now, or he’ll kill you!” Jaskier pleaded.

“What are you talking …” William turned around and found himself neck to sword with Geralt of Rivia, covered in blood and panting with adrenaline from battle.

“Listen to him,” Geralt said. His tone left no doubt he would offer mercy only once. The camp was quiet behind them. The others were all dead. 

William’s hands started to shake. He dropped his sword and raised his hands in surrender. 

“Smart boy.”

Geralt looked down at Jaskier who breathed a sigh of relief at William’s stand down before trying to slowly roll onto his feet. 

“He tried to help you?” Geralt asked, looking over Jaskier’s new injuries skeptically.

“Yeah,” Jaskier nodded then motioned towards the new damage to his face. “This is … my fault.”

“All right,” Geralt said.

William lowered his arms slightly. “Does that mean you won’t …?”

Geralt struck him across the face, knocking him out. 

“Oy! Was that really … eh, you know what that’s fair, he was still kidnapping us,” Jaskier said, changing his mind halfway through complaining. “You get all the others?”

Geralt looked contemplative for a moment and Jaskier knew he was listening for footsteps or heartbeats. 

“Yeah, that’s all of them.”

“Great, let’s get out of here.”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

It was almost an hour before they ended up leaving the camp. While Geralt loaded up Roach and another horse with their belongings and some pilfered supplies, Jaskier limped through the campsite and tentatively removed the coin purses from the dead. He tried to diminish the guilt he felt over robbing the men by also repositioning them all into more dignified positions. He found Commander Stent run through, a look of surprise frozen on his face, and at least felt no remorse relieving the man of his possessions.

When he got to William he checked the young man was breathing soundly, moved him into a comfortable position and then covered him with a blanket. Hopefully Geralt had left a large enough wound that he wouldn’t be questioned for being a coward or fleeing from battle when he found more of his people again later.

When Geralt was finished packing up their things he came over to Jaskier, who was slumped against the wheel of the cart, exhausted to his bones with a lap full of coin purses. Geralt knelt down until they were eye level then took the bard by the chin and examined the new bruises on his face. 

“You look like shit.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Your bedside manner astounds once again, Geralt.”

Geralt pushed down on his battered cheek bone.

“Ow ow stop! What are you doing?” Jaskier demanded, pulling away.

“Seeing if the bone’s broken.”

“And?”

“You’re not pretty but you’ll live.”

“I’ll be pretty again though, right?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt huffed, in laughter or disbelief, Jaskier wasn’t sure, but he also lifted the edge of the bard’s tunic to look at his bleeding shoulder. A few of the stitches had indeed been torn and blood oozed out slowly. Geralt hmmed.

“Sorry I’m not quite up to translating right now,” Jaskier said, almost breathless from exhaustion even though he was just sitting on the ground. “What does that hmm mean?”

“We don’t have time to stitch this, or the proper light. We’ll bandage it then we have to get moving.”

Jaskier nodded, understanding. The second someone passed by and saw that an entire troop of Nilfgardian soldiers had been murdered it was going to be bad, but if someone saw a witcher and a bard alive amongst the carnage it was going to be a whole lot worse for them. 

“Easy Geralt, that’s my strumming arm,” Jaskier said as Geralt quickly tied a bandage off around his shoulder. “It’s in my top 2 most important arms.”

Geralt huffed again, stood up and offered the bard a hand.

“Can you ride?”

“Will you let me?”

“Not Roach.” 

Jaskier was pulled to his feet and then directed towards a horse grazing next to Roach that had belonged to one of the soldiers. 

“You take that one. We have to move fast. Nilfgaard’s already looking for us and it’s going to be worse after this,” Geralt said and surprised Jaskier by waiting at the horse’s side to help the bard up into the saddle, which, even with the Witcher’s help was a grueling task. 

“Thanks,” Jaskier said when he was seated then reached out to pat the mane of his new stead lovingly. “Hello beautiful, and what shall I call you? Roach the 2nd?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Geralt warned as he mounted his own horse.

“You’re right, Roach Senior perhaps? Number One Roach? The Best Roach? … Geralt wait for me!”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

It turned out that riding fast and hard wasn’t as easy as Geralt hoped it would be. Less than an hour after they left the camp the adrenaline rush of their escape wore off and Geralt turned around to see Jaskier slumping forward on his horse, eyes drifting shut and precariously close to falling.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouted, pulling Roach back. 

Upon hearing his name the bard sat up, eyes wide but still glazed with confusion and exhaustion.

“What? Are we … attacked?” he asked but his eyelids were starting to droop closed before he even finished his sentence.

Geralt pulled Roach up next to him and reached out to steady him in his saddle.

“You said you could ride,” Geralt said, more frustrated than angry.

“I am … riding,” Jaskier said before crumpling forward again, Geralt’s grip on his arm the only thing keeping him from falling off the horse.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered. The bard wasn’t going to be waking up any time soon. He looked down at Roach. “Don’t tell him.”

He kicked Roach a step closer and pulled Jaskier off his saddle to sit in front of Geralt. The Witcher put a hand on his chest, it would help him keep the bard steady, and if it also meant he could feel Jaskier’s heart beating steady underneath, that was just a coincidence. He looped the reins of their second horse around Roach’s saddle and then kept moving, but changed direction and headed into the woods. There was no point in following the road. If they did reach a town it would be too dangerous to stop there, being the first place any soldiers would look for them. Jaskier needed rest and unfortunately the safest place to do that right now was deep in the forest, far off the road. 

It was another hour before Geralt was satisfied they were a safe distance to stop, ending up in a small clearing surrounded by trees with a stream a ten minute walk to the north. His Witcher senses took in the place and even in the dead of night he knew they would be safe here until Jaskier could travel again. 

Speaking of Jaskier, Geralt pulled the bard off the saddle and hmmed in discontentment when Jaskier didn’t so much as twitch while being laid down on a bedroll. Geralt started a fire to keep out the early autumn chill then set about sorting through the various medicine and bandages he had taken from the Nilfgardian camp. 

When he was ready he wet a rag and started to wipe the blood off Jaskier’s face, knowing it would be the kindest way to wake him. Jaskier’s eye flickered open at the touch of water and his tired gaze found Geralt’s.

“Where are we?” he asked, his voice rough from exhaustion.

“Camp, in the woods. Alone,” Geralt said, continuing cleaning out the cuts on Jaskier’s face. The bard closed his eyes but Geralt knew he was still awake. When he was done he put a hand under Jaskier’s uninjured shoulder. “Sit up.”

“Doesn’t sound fun,” Jaskier said.

“Don’t care,” Geralt said before he started to lift him gently.

“Fine, you brute,” Jaskier conceded, helping as best he could until he was leaned up against a tree though the action seemed to have exhausted him yet again. Geralt nudged him and handed him a steaming mug. 

“Drink this.” 

Jaskier sniffed it and grimaced. “Your cooking skills are lacking.”

“It’ll keep your wound from getting infected,” Geralt said. “There’s also a painkiller in there.”

“Painkiller, why didn’t you say so? I’ll take two,” Jaskier mumbled before taking a sip of the tea. His displeased face said it tasted horrible but he didn’t complain as he downed as much as he could then eyed the bandages and thread Geralt had laid out. “Why do I think I won’t like the reason I need the painkiller?”

“I’m going to restitch your shoulder and judging by your breathing your ribs are cracked. I have to wrap them,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier closed his eyes, clearly exhausted, but nodded. “Well, if you have to.”

Geralt waited a moment but when he saw the bard was making no effort to move he grunted and reached forward to start untying his tunic so he could reach the wound. Jaskier’s eyes slit open and he watched Geralt’s hands work deftly for a few moments.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said after a pause, almost hesitantly as though he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure what. He pushed the fabric of Jaskier’s shirt aside and focussed on sorting his needle and thread, knowing he had to avoid the bard’s gaze or his words wouldn’t come out. “You did good.”

Jaskier blinked. “What?”

“Back at the camp. You did a good job, getting the keys. Even if it did involve getting your ass kicked.”

“I must be more heavily drugged than I thought. You said I did a good job?”

“And got your ass kicked.”

“Of course I got my ass kicked, but it’s the compliment Geralt, it’s the compliment we’re focussing on right now. It almost makes it all worth it, having Geralt of Rivia thank me.”

“I didn’t thank you,” Geralt pointed out. 

Jaskier’s face dropped. “Oh.”

“Not yet anyway. I was getting there,” Geralt said. Jaskier’s face went wide with anticipation and he leaned forward, unable to hold back an expectant grin.

“What?” Geralt asked, unsure what the look meant.

“You haven’t said it yet.”

“Oh.” Geralt picked up the needle and waited longer than should have been humanely allowed. Finally he sighed. “Thanks.”

“You are absolutely welcome!” Jaskier beamed. “It’s not as though I had any use for them and I should thank you as well, you were absolutely incredible and I had no hope of escaping that hell hole on my own … well, I was wearing William down maybe another day and I would have OH GOD!”

Geralt had started stitching his shoulder. Jaskier bit his lip and flinched back against the tree behind him.

“Don’t move,” Geralt said.

“A little warning next time, Geralt,” Jaskier requested but Geralt said nothing, his soul hoping there would never be a next time that he needed to stitch together Jaskier’s skin. 

Geralt finished quickly and then moved to Jaskier’s ribs. He helped him painstakingly remove his shirt then had to bite down his own anger when he saw the brown and yellow marks littering the bard’s chest on both sides. 

“Those fucks,” Geralt muttered upon seeing the damage. He ran his fingers down the bard’s ribs, trying to feel for cracks or breaks. When he reached a particularly bruised section Jaskier gasped and arched back in pain before reaching out to grab Geralt’s hand to keep him from touching the area again. 

“You’ll be all right,” Geralt said soothingly. 

“Yeah,” Jaskier said breathlessly. A single tear rolled down his cheek and Geralt looked away. The ordeal was starting to hit the bard all at once now. He’d let Jaskier decide if he wanted Geralt to see him crumble. As it was, Jaskier wiped the tear away as inconspicuously as possible and then leaned forward silently to let Geralt bandage his ribs. The witcher worked as quickly as possible and then laid the bard back down, pulling a blanket up to cover him. 

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed almost immediately and Geralt sat against the tree near Jaskier’s head. He could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat, he knew the bard was still awake, his heart beating even faster the longer he lay there despite his exhaustion. Finally the bard’s eyes opened and he stared into the fire before he shuddered, though not from cold

“Geralt, are we safe here?” he asked eventually, his voice soft but shaking.

Geralt sighed then lifted a hand and carded his fingers through the bard’s hair. 

“You’re safe. Go to sleep Jaskier.”

The bard melted under the touch and his eyes slid closed. Geralt’s did not. He had no intention of sleeping. He remained on guard through the night, his fingers never stopping their soothing motion through Jaskier’s hair. 

~|~|~|~|~|~|~

After many hours of sleep and two meals pilfered from their former-captors, Jaskier was able to ride again. Geralt led them through the woods and around the mountainside, careful to keep them off the road, and thankful he at least knew what direction to take them in. Nilfgaard was to the south so the further north they travelled the further from danger they would be. Jaskier was uncharacteristically quiet for most of the trip, though hardly by choice. The left side of his jaw where he had received a boot to the face had swollen up after a few hours, and while he was capable of speaking, it was much less painful to just keep quiet. Geralt’s opinion on the matter varied internally hour by hour. Some minutes he enjoyed the silence, glad he could focus on their surroundings and listen for any sounds of attack or ambush, but then he would look behind him at Jaskier sitting silently on his horse, face bruised and swollen while he clutched at his bruised ribs, and suddenly he missed the bard’s voice more than he missed the sun in winter.

After four days sleeping in the wild they finally joined the road again and Geralt deemed it safe to enter civilization. A sign told them they were nearing Beauclair and Jaskier’s sigh of relief was closer to a scream of joy when Geralt said they could stay there. The bard was less happy when Geralt turned off the road a few miles before they reached the city walls and headed back into the woods.

“No Geralt … the town is this way … hot food, hot baths, a hot bed! I know they don’t make hot beds but I’ll figure out a way Geralt, I swear!”

“We need to stop,” Geralt said but Jaskier still frowned.

“Roach isn’t even tired! She hasn’t even done that grumpy head shake she does. I’ve been brutalized Geralt, I need comfort and luxuries!” Jaskier moaned though he pulled off the road and dismounted along with the Witcher. 

Geralt rolled his eyes and started rifling through his saddle bag. 

“I suppose it was too much to hope your jaw stayed swollen forever,” Geralt said though he was glad to see some of the bruising and swelling going down as they travelled. Jaskier still looked like shit but he could tell the bard was in less pain than a few days ago. 

“You love that I talk so much, if you didn’t you’d speak up more,” Jaskier said then flinched as a pile of clothing was thrown at him. Jaskier looked down at the plain clothes in confusion then looked up to see Geralt removing his outermost layer of armor. 

“Put that on,” Geralt said.

Jaskier looked at the plain black tunic, likely taken from the Nilfgaardian soldiers, with a look akin to horror. It was the drabbest, most boring outfit he’d ever seen. 

“You must be kidding. I wouldn’t be caught dead in this,” Jaskier said.

“You will be caught dead if you don’t wear it,” Geralt said, drawing Jaskier’s attention. “Nilfgaard’s looking for a bard and a witcher, which means your fancy outfits could get you killed. No flashy outfits and no songs. You’re a merchant until I tell you you’re not.”

Jaskier saw Geralt’s point but still frowned at the clothing in his arms. “Jaskier, the sad silk trader.”

“Not Jaskier.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nilfgaard knows your name, so do a lot of other people. When we get to Beauclair you have to go by something else,” Geralt said, still changing his clothes while Jaskier stood in shock that his whole life was being stripped away. 

“Damn. Why did I have to be so outrageously popular and beloved?” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” Jaskier mumbled and finally started to change his clothes. 

He shrugged out of his outer layer but then froze in pain as his cracked ribs protested him pulling his shirt over his head. 

“Fuck.”

“Here,” Geralt said and suddenly he was striding across the field, calloused fingers pulling fabric up, glancing against skin. Jaskier inhaled sharply for a different reason, now shirtless with Geralt hovering in his personal space.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice stuttering more than he would like it to.

Geralt froze, blinked twice and didn’t breathe, his body wound tighter than Jaskier’s lute strings as his jaw seemed to struggle to form words. 

“Uh …”

“Dandelion,” Jaskier whispered, desperate to say something to keep Geralt from bolting away like it seemed he wanted to.

“What?” Geralt asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Dandelion,” Jaskier said trying to sound confident and not like he had just blurted out nonsense to fill the awkward tension between them. “When we get into town, you can call me Dandelion. It was a … a nickname when I was a child. If you yell it across a room I’ll turn around, so, probably works.”

Geralt nodded. “Dandelion.”

“Glad we have that sorted. I um … “ Geralt was still tantalizingly close. Jaskier lowered his head and their foreheads nearly grazed. He held up the plain tunic. “I need a hand with this.”

Geralt didn’t even hmm, he merely took the shirt and looped it over Jaskier’s arms, going quickly but gently, never meeting the bard’s eye. When the shirt was over his head and synched Geralt took a step back, perhaps reluctantly, and nodded. He had never seen the bard in black before.

“You look terrible,” he said.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pointed at Geralt’s equally awful attire. “Thanks, you too.”

“No one will recognize you. That’s good. Let’s go. Your hot bed awaits,” Geralt said.

“The hottest bed Geralt! The absolute hottest. It shall be mine.”

~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~

They entered Beauclair as the sun was setting, meaning it was cold enough to justify Geralt’s hood covering his face and dark enough that no one could make out his features. When they reached an inn at the furthest outskirts of town Geralt sent Jaskier in alone to get them rooms as he hid in the shadows of the stable with Roach. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him, confused that Geralt was willing to let him out of his sight with danger lurking so close by.

“It’s safer this way. You can hide being a bard,” Geralt explained. “I can’t hide being a witcher.”

Jaskier frowned at that but nodded in understanding before he limped inside. They couldn’t give anyone cause to alert the Nilfgardian army to them. The inn ended up having only one room with a double bed. It wasn’t the first time they had shared a room but it was the first time Jaskier felt nervous about it, though he tried to hide it as he told Geralt their room number and the witcher slipped inside after a large crowd, hood still drawn up.

They settled in, had food brought up and then Jaskier risked heading downstairs for a bath. When he came back up an hour later he was a new man, properly cleaned and perfumed for the first time in over a week.

Geralt glared mildly. “I told you you’re a merchant.”

“Merchants can smell nice,” Jaskier argued as he limped his sore muscles over to the bed. “I’m still wearing these awful clothes, don’t worry.”

Geralt hmmed and continued his work counting their stolen coin and dividing it up into different bags and pouches. Never a bad strategy, especially with all the coin they had. If one bag was robbed they would have more in the other. 

“You’ll have to buy some more outfits and a coat. It’ll be cold when you get up north.”

Jaskier’s brow furrowed at that and he watched Geralt sort their coin, noticing far more of it was going into Jaskier’s bags than Geralt’s. He sucked in a breath, which was no small feat as he felt his chest tighten.

“We,” he said.

Geralt looked up and shook his head in confusion. “What?”

“When _we_ get up north you mean,” Jaskier elaborated. Geralt clenched his jaw when he realized what he had said. He hadn’t been prepared for this conversation yet. 

“No.”

Jaskier’s body started to tremble. He couldn’t even identify the emotions running through him but as he swallowed he thought it felt like grief.

“You’re leaving me,” he said. It was a fact and an accusation.

Geralt kept sorting their supplies, anything to avoid the bard’s eye. 

“You’ll have most of the coin. It’s enough for a few months at least. Don’t perform. Keep your head low. It’ll be safer.”

“Abandoning me is going to make me safer?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, his head shooting up, suddenly completely certain in himself. “It’s not safe with me Jaskier, it never has been. You’re a fool for following me this long. Look where it got you.”

Jaskier could feel Geralt staring at the bruises that still marred his face, but he shook his head, his voice as firm and sure as Geralt’s own.

“Following you is my choice Geralt, one I’ve never regretted, even now. They’re after both of us, we’re safer together.”

“I’m a witcher Jaskier, there’s no hiding that. Eventually they’ll find me and you need to be as far away from me as possible when that happens.”

“Have a little bit more faith in yourself, please. We know they’re behind us and we can stay ahead of them,” Jaskier said but could see his words weren’t changing Geralt’s mind. “We’re stronger together.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to Cintra. It’ll be a warzone soon. You can’t even fight.”

“And you can’t get keys while locked in a cage,” Jaskier said and saw Geralt’s resolve falter for the first time. “You don’t need to do this alone.”

“Yes, I do.”

Jaskier squared his shoulders. “I’ll follow you.”

Geralt huffed. “You can try.”

Okay, maybe that was an empty threat considering Geralt could outride him even before he was horribly wounded by Nilfgardian soldiers.

“I will. I’ll follow you across the continent. I’ll stop at every tavern and tell them, my name is Jaskier the bard and I’ll ask if anyone’s seen the White Wolf and I’ll sing at every court about Geralt of Rivia until I find you again.”

Geralt stilled. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

“If you care about that then you’ll stick around.”

“Of course I fucking care Jaskier!” 

“Then don’t treat me like a child. I can make my own decisions Geralt, you don’t need to tuck me away like some fragile keepsake.”

“You’ve been through enough.” Geralt turned away from him but Jaskier grabbed his arm and spun the witcher around to look at him.

“So have you. Why is it your job to take on everyone’s burdens Geralt, why must you fight all of our monsters? You deserve more. You deserve not to do it alone. You deserve l…”

Jaskier just barely stopped the word from toppling out but when he looked into Geralt’s eyes the witcher was watching him with an intensity that Jaskier had never felt before, his yellow eyes burning, pushing at Jaskier to finish even though his body looked like it wanted to run.

Jaskier sighed. He loosened his grip on Geralt’s arm.

“You deserve love.”

Geralt held his gaze. His fingers moved slowly and his touch grazed over Jaskier’s arm almost as though he was scared to hold on to him.

“I’ll only get you killed Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled. “But what a way to go, Geralt.”

He took a step closer. Geralt’s eyes made a decision then his fingers tightened and pulled him in. Their lips met and Jaskier inhaled, trembling again for entirely different reasons now as Geralt snaked an arm around his waist and deepened their kiss, devouring everything he could of the bard while taking no more than what was offered. It was the best kiss of Jaskier’s life and he felt lightheaded with the joy of it. It was so inherently Geralt. Silent but saying so much. Passion and a promise all in one. 

They pulled away but not far. Geralt tipped his forehead against Jaskier’s while the bard caught his breath.

“You’re a fool.”

“Your fool,” Jaskier corrected him.

Geralt’s grip around him tightened. He nodded. “My fool.”

“What now?”

“Get some rest. It’s a long way to Cintra.”

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Hope you enjoyed the whump and apologies if the slash bit was short but it felt wrapped up at this point.
> 
> As a slight “bonus feature” here is the original end line which I, perhaps foolishly, rewrote:
> 
> As they lay in bed together Jaskier laughed. “Looks like I got the hottest bed in town after all.”


End file.
